Of Automail and Alchemy
by Lady Argon
Summary: A collection of Edward/Winry ficlets and drabbles that will be updated at my leisure. Rating may change as newer chapters are posted.
1. The Beauties of Parenthood

**Of Automail and Alchemy**

by Lady Argon

**A/N: **Reviews are much appreciated!

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**_1. The Beauties of Parenthood -_**_ Autumn__, 1925_

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Edward sighed irritably as he heard the clanks of pots and pans grow louder and louder, floating into his bedroom from the kitchen, vibrating uncomfortably in his ears. He rolled over on the bed, opening one weary eye to his wife, whose were shut tight, frowning as she clutched her pillow.

"_Winry_," he whined.

"_Ed_," she shot back in the same tone, mockingly.

He huffed. "Get up and make the kids breakfast."

"I have work in a couple of hours, Ed. Two surgeries and three repairs. I need as much sleep as I can get," she murmured into her pillow, barely audible due to the raucous.

Ed opened his mouth to retort, but faltered. It was true, she needed rest. Her job was complicated and exhausting, and there Ed was, demanding even _more _from her than necessary. He shut his mouth and slowly sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

Before standing up, he looked at her from over his shoulder. "Fine, I'll handle them this time, even though it's supposed to be _your turn_."

Winry turned her head slightly so could he could see the small, grateful smile on her face. "Thank you, Ed."

He snapped his head forward and abruptly stood, his automail leg thudding noisily against the wooden floor, his cheeks blushing unwillingly.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered sheepishly.

As he stepped into the kitchen, all of the clanking and banging had suddenly come to a halt, his two children looking at him far too innocently, Urey frozen with his arm halfway to hitting the pot that was in between his legs and Trisha holding a ladle in one hand and a spatula in the other, wearing a strainer basket on her head as a hat.

Edward crossed his arms and glowered at his children, his voice deadly calm, despite his strong desire to swear and yell. "What is the meaning of this?"

Urey and Trisha shared a glance and gulped.

After a moment, the older sibling timidly spoke up. "We… we wanted to make you and Mommy breakfast."

Trisha nodded in agreement, fearfully.

Ed wasn't buying it. "Is that so? Where are the ingredients, then?"

It was Trisha's turn to respond. "Well, at _first_ we were gonna make you and Mommy breakfast, but we couldn't reach any of the food, so we… we…" her bottom lip quivered and she rushed to her father, dropping the utensils, the strainer basket falling off her head with a crash. She wrapped her tiny arms around his legs as she reached him. "We're sorry, Daddy!"

Edward looked down at her in surprise before sighing and picking her up, holding her against his chest with one arm. He walked over to his son, squatting to meet his eye-level. "_You're _the older brother, Urey. You should know that playing with the cooking supplies and giving me and your Mommy headaches early in the morning is wrong."

Urey let his arm fall to his side, not meeting Ed's eyes. "Okay, Daddy. I'm sorry."

This time he looked at both of his children. "Good. Now, if this happens again, I won't be as forgiving as I am now. Got it?"

"Okay, Daddy," they said in unison.

Ed straightened, setting his daughter on the ground and stretching. "I'll clean this up; you two go sit at the table. Breakfast'll be ready in a bit."

They nodded. As they exited the kitchen, Urey whispered to Trisha, "Aw, but Daddy's food tastes like butt."

"What was that?" Ed asked sharply.

Urey looked back at his father, eyes wide.

"N-nothing, Daddy," he scurried away without another word, Trisha following after him hastily.

Ed bent down to clean up the mess, shaking his head. "Damn kids."

But he was smiling.


	2. The Roof

**_2. The Roof - _**_Spring, 1916_

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They lay in the field of grass just next to the Rockbell house, where Edward had slipped off of the roof just moments before and was fortunately rescued by Winry, who heard his bewildered cry in the nick of time.

That did not mean it was a clean catch by any means. Just as Edward crashed into Winry's open arms, the two toppled unceremoniously into the land.

"You're a lot stronger than you look," were the first words to escape the former alchemist's lips as to conceal his discomfiture. "Anyone else and we would've _both_ gotten it." He spoke the second half with hushed sincerity and a touch of fondness.

Winry, however, acted as if she had not listened. She, instead, looked down at the young man leaning heavily against her stomach and frowned severely. She peeled her protective arms from around his torso, speaking in a jarring tone. "Edward, you _idiot_! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THE HELL WOULD'VE HAPPENED IF I—"

"But you _did_ make it," Ed replied, flinching noticeably at her outburst. Edward attempted to bring himself back to his feet, to escape from the mechanic's wrath above anything else, though his efforts were futile, as his arms felt as if they suddenly transmuted themselves into jelly (which is impossible, of course) and his automail leg felt alarmingly light. He landed back into her with an _oof_.

Winry seemed to have detected his difficulty, as she momentarily abandoned her anger and shifted so that Ed's head rested in her lap. Luckily, she was only left with a couple of scratches and slight bruises, so she had no issue with disregarding her own injuries.

She cast her glance down to him, her eyebrows knitting in concern. "You're such a dummy," she choked out as she inspected his damaged form.

Edward blushed involuntarily under her gaze, becoming a bit bashful. "I'm fine, Winry. Just a little beat up."

She shook her head in disbelief. "Ed, You could've _died_."

Edward did not meet her eyes, looking into a faraway patch of the sky. In a voice barely above a whisper, he said, "You saved me before I could, Winry. I have nothing to worry about when I have you with me. Besides, your hands were meant to save lives, right?"

The young woman's features began to tremble, though she swallowed them down to conceal her lack of strength to the broken boy in her arms.

"Idiot," she muttered again.

As if on impulse, she bent down and met his lips with her own. He tasted of dirt and perspiration, and there was no doubt that their cheeks were both deep shades of scarlet, but that did not matter. Nothing mattered. Only _they_ mattered.

That was their first kiss. And it would be the first of many.

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**A/N:** This was my response to one of _Tumblr_'s imagineyourotp posts, which read: "Imagine your OTP kissing passionately after Person A saves Person B from almost certain death."

I swear, I had no idea that I would abandon this project for such a prolonged period of time. I have no excuse to make up for my negligence, so I will simply leave you with a, "no promises, but I will try my best to stay on top of things from here on out".

Admittedly, this was written a couple of months ago and is also stolen from my _Tumblr_ account, so I apologize for that.

Also, I appreciate all that have reviewed/followed/favorited! Though my thanks may be terribly late, I will surely respond to each of you privately.


	3. Luck

_**3. Luck** - Summer, 1916_

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Though he would never admit it to her, Edward secretly took pleasure in quietly watching Winry as she worked on automail.

He relished the sound of the familiar tinkering, the muscles of her back as they tensed in solid concentration, the way she contracted and flexed as if she had the repetition of mechanics memorized.

At times, if luck was on his side, he would be able to observe her for long periods of time without disturbing her, but at other times… well.

"What do you want, Ed?"

The young man snapped out of his apparent trance at the mention of his name. Winry sat twisted in her chair, her gloved hands gripping the back of it tightly as she scowled at him, sweat shining her brow.

Ed shoved his hands into his pockets and abruptly averted his gaze, feeling a flush creeping up his neck.

"Uh—well—" he stammered. In attempt to shift the attention away from him, he strode up to Winry's side, eyeing her workbench in faux curiosity. "What're you working on?"

She breathed a sigh of irritation as she turned to her previous sitting position and pulled her goggles back over her eyes, continuing her project. "A partial arm for a new customer in Rush Valley who lost half of his forearm in a factorial accident, and I've never really done partial automail before."

Edward frowned at the pieces of metal scattered across the surface. "Sounds complicated."

Again she sighed, though more out of fatigue than annoyance. "You can say that."

After watching her for several long moments, Edward realized that his presence must have been a burden to Winry, and he straightened, clearing his throat. "Well, I guess I'll leave you to your work, then."

Without looking at him, Winry nodded, her attention so steadily focused on her work that Ed wondered if she noticed the world outside of her whenever she got like that.

Before he reached the door, a thought halted his footsteps. He spun around on the heels of his boots. "Hey, Winry," he called, raising his voice to be heard over the whirring and humming of tools.

The noise faltered, and Winry pushed her goggles up to her forehead as she looked over her shoulder. "Yeah?"

"If you're the same person who created this," he pulled his left hand out of his pocket and tapped his prosthetic leg firmly, "then your automail will turn out great, as always."

Winry smiled for the first time since he intruded, tender and unexpected. "Thanks, Ed."

He felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of it, and he cursed himself for always letting her get a rise out of him so easily. Sheepish, he scratched the back of his neck as he turned to the exit, and decided on one last thing to say before he left her to her solitude.

"And don't think I expect anything less from the best automail mechanic in Amestris!"

As he passed through the doorway, he heard the familiar sound of Winry's laughter, followed by a response: "I wouldn't dream of it!"

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**A/N:** I've added dates to the individual chapters. Huzzah to organization! To cleaning out old notebooks and finding near-completed drabbles, as well!


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